The Beauty In Me
by Hermitt
Summary: It had been an accident. Emily Potter hadn't meant to travel back in time, especially not back into the time of her worst enemy's youth. And worst of all he was interested in her, even now. It seemed the Girl-Who-Lived would never escape the snake. Fem!Harry/Tom Riddle {HIATUS}
1. Chapter 1

This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by J.K. Rowling or any of her publishers or licensees. It does not imply or claim any rights to her characters or creations.

Harry Potter is a registered trademark of Warner Bros.

* * *

The winter sun warmed Emily's cheeks as she walked towards breakfast with Ron and Hermione, excitedly talking with Ron about the Apparition lesson sign-on sheet that had appeared in their Common Room that morning. He and Hermione still weren't talking to each other but at least they weren't avoiding each other as thoroughly as before the break. The snow was melted and the chill of the season was beginning to leave them in time with their return from Christmas Break; it was a small pleasure that made Emily smile. The halls were filled with chattering students, as yet unaware of whatever fresh wave of horror Voldemort had unleashed on them between the release of the Prophet yesterday and the one they expected to see at breakfast.

"I'm starved!" Ron cheered as they reached their table, sliding into his seat and wasting no time digging into the sausages.

Hermione ignored him and Emily rolled her eyes at the boy but joined him on the bench, each girl reaching out to the eggs and toast respectively.

"You're always hungry," Emily teased, grinning as Ron made a face at her and Hermione kept her eyes diverted yet again.

Not long into breakfast the owls arrived and Hermione received her customary Daily Prophet. Emily's eyes turned wary as she watched Hermione scan the paper. She swallowed her toast and addressed her.

"Anything?" she asked anxiously, watching closely for Hermione's expression, Ron nervously following her example. She didn't reply at first as her eyes continued to zoom over the paper before her shoulders dropped slightly in relief and she turned to the Girl Who Lived.

"Nothing this morning," Hermione assured her, settling the paper next to her breakfast plate and settling in to read it more thoroughly.

Emily's grim expression relaxed slightly at the news. Though she knew it was only a matter of time until Voldemort killed or kidnapped someone else and gained further notoriety in the Daily Prophet, it was a slight relief not to start the new term with another reminder of the snake. Then again, she continued, staring hard at her plate, he could just be planning something bigger which was really no relief at all.

"Don't forget your lesson tonight, Emily," Hermione said to her suddenly, not looking up from her paper.

"Meeting Dumbledore tonight at eight," Emily said, smiling when Hermione glanced up and nodded approvingly.

"When is he gonna start teaching you spells and tricks, though?" Ron asked, picking up a roll and biting into it. "I still reckon that would be more useful," he argued through his bite of bread.

Hermione's jaw clenched at his words as though she wanted to respond. She was still resolutely refusing to speak to him, though, which just made Emily feel uncomfortable.

"Actually, learning about him and how he became Voldemort is really useful too," Emily said, more for Hermione's benefit really and was rewarded when she saw the approving gleam in her friend's eyes before she turned back to the paper.

Ron grunted but turned back to his breakfast, Emily soon following after a comforting smile at her best female friend. It seemed to be for naught, though, as within five minutes of their wary truce there came a shrill cry of "Won-Won!" and Hermione's body tensed up and her mouth turned hard.

"I'm finished," she muttered with a fake smile and dropped the fork that was halfway to her mouth and turned to gather her bag.

Lavender reached them and fell onto Ron in a dramatic display of affection and kissed him thoroughly. Emily cringed, not sure if he'd had a full mouth of food or not but unwilling to think more fully on it. Ron looked to her for immediate help while his girlfriend turned suspicious eyes on both her and Hermione, clearly telling them to leave.

"Um, yeah, me too," Emily agreed with Hermione, quickly dropping her forkful of eggs and grabbing her bag to leave as well. "See you in class, Ron," she placated, smirking slightly when his betrayed eyes followed her out of her seat. "Hermione!" she called to her friend who was already halfway down the table. Hermione paused and turned around, a faint smile coming to her lips as her friend joined her and didn't leave her on her own.

The pair soon reached the doorway to the Great Hall where they bumped into Luna, as usual dreamily making her way to breakfast in her own time.

"Hey Luna!" Emily smiled, stopping to greet her friend. "I haven't seen you since before Christmas. How was your break?"

Luna smiled at the pair. "It was very good, thank you. Daddy and I went looking for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack for a week and we made a new exciting discovery —"

"Luna, there's no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Hermione interrupted exasperatedly.

"Of course there is," she responded lightly before turning back to Emily. "Daddy also got me some Destiny Dust for Christmas," she continued, lifting up a small draw-string bag on her chest, tied with a long cord to make a necklace. "It's quite extraordinary, actually. Little Perwinder Puffins live in it because it smells so good. It's called Destiny Dust because the Perwinder Puffins are always attracted to people with great destinies," she smiled dreamily, watching Emily with her large, unblinking eyes. Hermione opened her mouth to speak before Luna spoke again, side-tracking her. "Of course, I don't make the mistake that I have a great destiny, but it's said to bring luck and purpose to people anyway. I've already decided what I want to do when I graduate and having such a purpose is really very liberating," she smiled.

Emily smiled in response and quickly put a hand on Hermione's arm when she noticed the older girl go to contradict what Luna had said.

"That sounds like a great present, Luna," Emily indulged her, her smile widening when Luna's smile brightened at her.

"I think so," she said, looking down and fingering the opening of her bag full of Destiny Dust. "I think this would actually be a better present for you, Emily. You are the Chosen One, after all," she commented, smiling up at Emily before looking back down at her bag and opening it. Luna made an approving sound as she looked down into the contents of her draw-string bag and looked back up at Emily again and beamed. "The Perwinder Puffins are very active right now. They must sense you and your destiny," she complimented.

Emily scratched her head and smiled awkwardly.

"Thanks, Luna. I think."

"Can I see this Destiny Dust, Luna?" Hermione interjected, looking at the bag doubtfully.

Luna pulled the bag from her neck and held it out to Hermione. Hermione pulled the bag from her grasp and poked her nose inside, a frown appearing on her face before she looked back up at the pair.

"This is pixie dust, Luna," Hermione told her matter-of-factly.

"That's another name for it, yes," Luna agreed serenely, smiling still.

"No, Luna, this is just pixie dust. There's no such thing as Destiny Dust or Perwinder Puffins. It's just common pixie dust. No great destiny about it."

"Of course there is," Luna argued dreamily. Emily began to feel uncomfortable standing there between the arguing two; it was never fun to come between a dreamer and a realist.

"Emily, tell her there's no such thing," Hermione demanded, looking towards her suddenly wide-eyed friend. Luna's large grey eyes turned to her then, their perpetually surprised look just making Emily more uncomfortable.

"Erm, well I—I don't really know enough about it to say for sure," she tried, wincing slightly as Hermione looked at her in disapproval.

"Honestly, Emily," she muttered, turning her nose back into the bag. "There's no such thing so don't be rid- _rid_ —" And she sneezed.

In a moment Hermione had inhaled some of the dust and expelled it just as quickly. The rush of air resulted in the shimmery dust blowing out of the bag. In her surprise, Hermione tipped the bag away from her to spare her face and jerked the dust directly onto her best friend.

"Oh, Emily! I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasped, her spare hand coming to cover her mouth. Emily stood still for a moment, her arms held out slightly from her body. She flicked her hands and a light sprinkling of the dust fell away from her. There was still a clear coating of it over her front and stuck in her hair, though.

"Ooh, that's good luck!"

Both girls turned to Luna who was watching the scene intently. Hermione's face immediately fell again as she looked at Luna and began apologising once more.

"Luna, I'm so very sorry," Hermione pleaded remorsefully. "This was a present from your father and I just ruined it! I'm so sorry!"

Luna turned to Hermione and smiled gently at her and pat her shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault, Hermione. The Perwinder Puffins were obviously more determined to get to Emily than I thought. Of course, they should have asked before they crawled up your nose but they aren't the most patient of creatures, after all."

"Of—of course," Hermione agreed hesitantly in her effort to make amends. "I really am very sorry, though," she repeated, remorsefully handing the now mostly empty bag back to Luna who replaced it around her neck happily. "I'll, ah, I'll get you some more," she promised.

"No need, Hermione," Luna smiled at her, patting the bag happily. "Daddy will be so pleased to hear about this. He might even write about it in the Quibbler! Do let me know if you have any great revelations, Emily. I'm hungry, though, so I'd better go and eat before the food disappears on me again. I'll see you later," she smiled and waved at them both happily before skipping off to the Ravenclaw table, not a care in the world.

"I am sorry," Hermione murmured to Emily as the pair began their walk to Charms. Emily was ruffling her hair in an effort to remove the dust from it and patting her robes down. She was successful in removing the majority of the dust but gave up in the end, not really that concerned.

"It's okay, Hermione," Emily reassured her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and scratching her suddenly itchy scalp, the dust most likely the culprit. "Besides, it's good luck, remember?" she teased, bumping shoulders with Hermione. Her friend cracked a smile at her and they returned to the easiness of before.

* * *

"Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for the murders he had not committed," Professor Dumbledore said, he and Emily reaching the end of their discussion on the latest memory they had seen; sixteen-year-old Voldemort meeting his uncle and the consequent murders of his father and paternal grandparents, and the framing of his uncle for the crimes. "But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part…"

Emily quietly watched as Dumbledore removed another crystal phial from a pocket inside his robes and struggled slightly to pour the memory into the Pensieve. Usually transfixed by the deceptively beautiful substance that flowed gracefully into the Pensieve, knowing that each one was the key to all Voldemort had done, this memory clung to the phial like a thick, clumpy yoghurt and Emily found herself wondering if memories ever went off. Dumbledore's words from earlier, though, had left her nervous and excited, the two emotions warring within her. She had to control herself from fidgeting on the spot.

He'd said this was one of the most important memories he had ever collected. This was it. This memory here was going to be the undoing of her enemy. It was almost surreal.

"This will not take long," Dumbledore said as he finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then…"

Dumbledore stepped back and gestured to the shallow stone basin within which the memory would play. Emily took a deep breath and locked eyes with her mentor for a moment before she turned her determined gaze on the Pensieve. Gryffindor courage flowed through her as she advanced. Reaching forward, she wrapped her hands around the outside and bent her head low to dip it through the silver surface.

Immediately Emily knew something was wrong. The coolness of the Pensieve was absent. Instead there was an immediate hotness, like she'd just lifted the lid to a cooking pot and stuck her head directly in the way of the steam. Emily tried to jerk backwards but was instead pulled forwards, her feet ripped out from under her. She saw swirls of dark colour contrasted by sudden shocks of white fog, a loud voice echoing around her "– _you'll go wrong, boy, mark my words_." The spinning briefly slowed down enough that she could make out the dungeon and what looked like a young Professor Slughorn and a table of male students in front of him, one of which Emily knew had to be her adversary, before the jerking began again. Like a Portkey, there was a hook-like feeling behind her naval as she was thrown around in a swirl of dark colour and white fog, muffled voices following her everywhere. She was beginning to panic so, with a great effort, Emily jerked herself away from the blurring colour and stifling heat and, in a heart-stopping moment, she hung in nothing – no colour, no sound, and no heat. Gasping loudly, Emily finally felt herself jerk away from the Pensieve, so forcefully that she lost her footing as she stumbled backwards and fell on her backside, barely managing to avoid smacking her head on the stone floor.

Emily groaned deeply and loudly, painfully rolling onto her side and pausing to quell the sudden nausea that overcame her. Her head pounded, her scar burned, her muscles strained and she felt an overall exhaustion she'd not felt since she was in the Hospital Wing recovering from the Ministry incident at the end of fifth year.

"My dear girl, are you alright?" Dumbledore called from above her.

Emily winced and squinted her eyes open as she sat up, feeling the old man's hand on her back offering assistance.

"There's definitely something wrong with that memory," she told him, turning to grimace at him. Her grimace immediately morphed into a shocked expression as she stared at the familiar man. "Professor…?" she murmured slowly in growing concern. "Please don't tell me…" she muttered, her face tortured. Dumbledore was familiar all right, but only because she'd seen this version in a memory that involved an eleven-year-old Voldemort.

"What is your name, dear girl? I must say, it's not every day I see a young woman jump out of a Pensieve. Perhaps you should sit down and tell me your story over a cup of tea," the young Dumbledore suggested, helping a now numb Emily stand and lead her to his desk, his long hair and beard a shocking auburn. Glancing around, Emily noticed she was clearly in the man's private room; it was cosy and there were no student desks anywhere. A small mercy, perhaps. Hitting those on her way out would have hurt.

The pair both settled and Dumbledore summoned an elf to order a tea tray.

"Now, my dear," Professor Dumbledore said, turning to the silent young woman with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning. You seem to know me and I find things will go most smoothly if I know you too," he smiled, reaching forward as the tea tray appeared and serving them both a cup.

Emily sighed and accepted her cup, holding it between her hands but not taking a sip, trying not to wince as her head and scar throbbed. She looked up at her future headmaster, at least dressed as flamboyantly as she remembered, and resigned herself.

"Sir, my name is Emily Potter, and I'm from January 1997."

There was a silence as Emily looked Dumbledore in the eye. His eyebrows rose higher than perhaps she'd ever seen them and he paused lifting his teacup to his lips.

"I see," he said.

Emily cringed.

"Perhaps you should start from the beginning," he suggested, finally taking a sip.

Emily at last allowed herself to groan and rub her face tiredly.

 _Why is it always me?_


	2. Chapter 2

Emily sighed as she finished summarising the events that led her to be sitting in front of a far younger Dumbledore than she was accustomed to seeing. She winced as her scar throbbed again, the overall ache she felt in her body almost making her beg for rest.

"So I was showing you a certain memory in the future and it pulled you through to now?"

Emily sighed tiredly at the Transfiguration Professor but gave him a wan smile, the drain on her energy making her shoulders sag.

"As strange as that sounds, it's actually a pretty average thing to happen to me," she joked dryly. The man smiled at her but remained serious.

"Fortunately for you that I had the headmaster's Pensieve with me tonight, Miss Potter," he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. "It seems that I was just the person you needed to see."

Emily frowned but let the comment go, too tired to really bother with pursuing the subject.

"So do you know how to get me home?" she asked, Hermione's words some years ago haunting her thoughts.

 _Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Emily._

"I am afraid that I have no extensive knowledge of time travel, Miss Potter," Dumbledore responded, lips puckering curiously. "I do, however, have a contact at the Ministry that might be able to help."

Emily tried not to cringe at the mention of the Ministry. There was certainly no love lost between her and the wizarding government.

"The Unspeakables have the perfect level of confidentiality for the job, I believe. And the best knowledge."

"How long will that take, Professor?" she asked, her eyebrows pulling together as she debated what to say. "You see, we were kind of in the middle of something … very important, and I don't know what'll happen if I don't get back soon," she said slowly, weighing her words carefully before she spoke them.

 _Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Emily._

"I will send my contact a letter this evening, Miss Potter," Dumbledore assured her, seeming to sense her urgency. "For now, though, I'm afraid the best I can offer you is a warm bed for the night until we more fully understand how you came to be here," he smiled, his eyes twinkling suddenly when Emily let her body sag in relief at his words. "You, my dear, look knocked off your feet. I can't imagine time travel to be an entirely fatigue-free venture," he chuckled.

"You have no idea, sir," Emily huffed, pulling herself from the comfortable seat. "Where should I sleep?" Her sudden concern made Dumbledore pause.

"I believe the guest wing will be suitable. Fortunately it is not too far from here. We will be there in just a jiffy," he told her easily, walking around the desk to lead her away.

* * *

It did take a while for Emily to get to sleep, despite the overwhelming exhaustion she felt. The bed was firm and the blankets like a cocoon. The softly crackling fire warmed the room and when Emily closed her eyes she could almost imagine herself still in the Gryffindor Common Room with Ron and Hermione. She tossed and turned and moaned unhappily as she strove for the rest that was eluding her, though, cringing into her pillow as the reality of the situation pressed down on her. She tried not to think on it so much, tried to push away her worries and doubts and cling to her faith in Dumbledore to help her as he always had, but, as the night began to wear on, Emily couldn't help some of the tears that fell. Any other time; Emily knew she would have preferred any other time than the one she'd been dragged to.

Dumbledore's ease when telling her the date had felt wrong and ugly; it had made her feel sick.

It was 1943 – October 26, 1943, and Emily felt her heart crack.

 _He_ was in school now. The bane of her existence, the one who had taken her mum and dad, her friend, her godfather, her _childhood_ from her.

Tom Riddle was in the very same building as her right in that moment. As she tried to find sleep in the familiar Hogwarts bed, she knew Lord Voldemort was probably already asleep in his. In the castle. The boy before the monster. Or perhaps he was a monster already. She knew she couldn't find proper rest knowing that.

Emily hissed when her scar began to burn again. It hadn't relented once since she'd stumbled out of the Pensieve and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what that meant. But it was with a sluggish relief that she finally felt herself succumb to the formerly elusive rest she needed. She didn't rest peacefully, though. As she slept, she dreamed. There was a cold feeling of victory in her dream, an unavoidable feeling of excitement that instead of happy, made her feel dread. There was hissing she knew was Parseltongue, words she understood, and a flash of dark eyes looking at her with intense, wary attention. The wide-open jaw of a snake came at her from the darkness behind her eyes and snapped at her, a rush of overwhelming panic shooting through her and waking her up. Emily shot up in bed, sweat on her brow and a harsh throbbing in her scar that made her double over in pain. The light coming in through her window alerted her to the fact she'd slept most of the night but for the life of her, Emily felt like she hadn't slept a wink.

* * *

"Quite convenient you appeared to us on a Saturday evening," Dumbledore commented cheerily, an excited spring in his step that made Emily scowl. Her head hurt, her scar burned, and her exhaustion had barely eased at all. Turning her head too quickly resulted in a harsh lurch of her stomach, the nausea forcing her eyes shut as she tried to steady herself. She felt sick and tired and depressed and didn't know what Dumbledore could be so happy about.

"Really?" she muttered, wincing when a Ministry worker bumped her shoulder.

The pair had eaten early in her rooms where Dumbledore had happily informed her that his contact had gotten back to him almost immediately and had requested their appointment early that morning. Thus the reason why Emily found herself jostled and bumped through the early morning crowd of Ministry employees, the occasional shout at Dumbledore in greeting feeling like a screw in her brain.

"Indeed, my dear. Had it been a weekday I would have had to come up with some rather ingenious reason to excuse myself from classes to escort you," he chuckled, gently directing her into the elevator and pressing the button for Level 9, the Department of Mysteries level. "Hello, Ignatius!" he greeted one of the men in the elevator, smiling delightedly. "How are those giantsbane beansprouts coming along? Have they flowered yet?"

Emily sighed and tuned out the conversation of the unfamiliarly energetic Dumbledore, rubbing her temples and then her scar quite furiously, hoping it would relieve the pain. It didn't. Soon enough, though, the elevator emptied and the pair found themselves looking out into a near-empty corridor, if not for the man standing to greet them.

"Albus, Miss Potter," the man said, reaching forward to shake both their hands when they stepped out of the lift. He was an average-sized man with plain brown hair and eyes. His slightly soft face would have made him entirely unremarkable to Emily if it weren't for the familiar caution she saw when he looked at her. He reminded her of Mad-Eye.

"Claudius, my friend, so good of you to see us so quickly," Dumbledore smiled, turning to Emily. "Emily," he said, her having insisted on his use of her first name, "this is Claudius Willem, Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries and the contact I told you about," he introduced.

"So you're from 1997, you say?" Willem wasted no time as he bid them follow him down the hall.

"Yes," Emily replied, reaching up to rub her scar again.

Willem followed her movement and studied her scar briefly before he made a noncommittal sound and stopped outside a familiar door. Emily felt a chill go down her spine at the sight before her. That door would not change at all in the next fifty years. Behind it, in one of those rooms, she'd lost Sirius. The thought made her turn her eyes away as the Unspeakable led them inside.

The small room was just as she remembered it as well; circular with a collection of identical doors she knew she would get lost in if left to her own devices.

"Time Room!" Willem's sudden exclamation made Emily jerk to look at him. She watched in understanding, then, as the doors spun around them at an almost dizzying speed before stopping again. She remembered how she'd desperately screamed out for the right door in this room fifty years from now, when they were in the middle of their battle with the Death Eaters. She'd been sweating and panting and bloody. It clicked then, that the trick of the room was hidden in plain sight; you just had to ask for the room you wanted.

Unaware of her sudden understanding, Willem moved forward and opened the door, stepping through and holding it open for them courteously. Dumbledore held his hand out and gestured Emily through first, following behind her a moment later.

The first thing that hit her was the sound; hundreds of clocks all ticking on relentlessly like the marching footsteps of a small army. She was aware of the door closing behind her but kept her eyes on the room she'd just stepped into.

Last time she'd been there it had been empty of life, though full of instruments and magic she could never begin to comprehend. Despite the bloody, violent battle she could remember playing out here clear as day, Emily still found herself enchanted by the magic in the room. There were clocks of all kinds on every surface, some Unspeakables tinkering with a few at their desks, and clocks hanging on walls, from the ceiling and standing tall and proud against the surrounding stone. Most enchanting, though, was the playful, sparkling, diamond-like light that lit up the room, a light that originated from a familiar bell jar at the far end of the room. The cycle of egg to chick to grown hummingbird taking place within the curling, shimmering wind was on an endless loop within the jar. The morbid image of the Death Eater who'd had his head stuck in there only to emerge with a grotesque baby's head on his grown body and thick neck flashed through her mind's eye and made her shudder.

Thoughts of the wreckage caused that day drew her sight to a familiar case standing against one of the walls, its large size dominating its stretch of wall and the clear glass front giving easy view to what lay within. Emily wondered if the Time-Turners that were housed within the case would solve her problem, the hourglass instruments of different sizes drawing her eyes and causing her to reflect back to Hermione again, and Sirius. With a cold dread, though, like it was whispering her name, Emily's eyes returned to the bell jar towards the back, behind which was a plain door. Through it, she knew, was the Hall of Prophecy. It was such a deceptively ordinary door to hold what it did. Emily darkly wondered if there was a metaphor there somewhere.

"My office. This way," Willem said, striding partway down the narrow channel between the many desks before slipping between them to reach another door, this one leading to one of the nondescript offices just off the central chamber.

Emily followed, pulling her eyes away from the door at the back to follow the man towards and into his office. It was plain and entirely unremarkable, with a desk, neat stack of papers, a modest collection of chairs in front of his desk and another clock against the far wall. Dumbledore closed the door as they cleared its frame and, gesturing to the pair to take a seat, Willem walked around his desk and sat forward intently.

"Now, Miss Potter, I will get straight to it. Though we work in the Time Room, I can assure you we don't have any to waste," he said with a straight face. Emily wasn't sure if he was making a joke or not so just stayed silent. "You should not exist," he said, admittedly taking Emily aback.

"What?" she asked, feeling her ire begin to spark.

"Time travel, Miss Potter," he said, not affected by her stare, "is not possible for an individual without a strong anchor to the time they're going to."

"Like what?" she asked and rubbed her scar again as her irritation made the pain flare. Willem's eyes were drawn to it again and his face remained neutral as he studied the mark. Emily, noticing this, uneasily pat her fringe down, uncomfortable with his stare.

"Yourself."

"What does that mean?" she asked, glancing to Dumbledore for an answer. The professor, though, was studying Willem intently, his entire face contemplative when he glanced at her. His smile was not as reassuring as Emily assumed it was meant to be.

"You cannot travel back in time without being displaced out of time and laid vulnerable to the laws of nature, Miss Potter. Magic only goes so far," he warned.

"Look, I still don't get it," Emily hissed lightly, reaching up and frantically rubbing her burning scar again before lowering her hand. "I've gone back in time before, you know. We had a Time-Turner and —"

"A Time-Turner only goes back hours, girl. You have gone back over fifty years," Willem interrupted, not necessarily snapping but definitely said sharply. Emily felt chastised and groaned, reaching up to rub her temple in response to the same headache she'd had since arriving in the past.

"Okay, so how is that different? Please," she said, turning to look imploringly at the Unspeakable, her expression lost and sad. "And how do I get home?"

Willem leaned back in his chair and studied her again. His eyes flicked up towards her scar and a faint frown appeared on his face before he looked back into her sad green eyes.

"Miss Potter," he began, "there is a very good reason we only have devices that travel hours back in time. There is a very good reason why we don't attempt to leap back decades. When we travel in time we are, as I said, displaced; we, as we are when we travel, should not exist in the time we choose to go to. It is not natural. However, the rule can bend slightly. So long as you have a strong anchor to the time you are travelling to you will stabilise. You may experience a mild headache, but your displacement can reconcile the anomaly you create by a familiar energy. Your own," he said, lowering his head and raising his eyebrows at Emily's consternated expression. "Time travel is possible over a period of hours because you exist in that time and have your own magical energy as an anchor to keep you existing. You, Miss Potter, have not been born yet nor, even, your parents. I say you should not exist because you really shouldn't. There is no link that is immediately obvious that is keeping you from winking out of existence."

Emily knew her mouth was open but was in too much shock to bother closing it.

"So I should have died when I came here?" she asked, aghast at the implications.

"Not technically," Willem corrected. "You would have ceased to exist. No physical, magical or spiritual energy remaining to justify 'death', just non-existence because you were never meant to be here."

"As if that makes it better!" Emily snapped, leaning forward and clutching her head as it throbbed again.

"That is why your case is so curious, Miss Potter," Willem said, ignoring her action.

"Isn't it always?" she muttered into her hands before lifting her head up to look at him again. "So what now?"

"We figure out what it is that is keeping you from disappearing," he said, nodding his head. "And then we make an effort to correct the imbalance."

"You're going to study me?" she asked warily, watching as he nodded again. "For how long?"

 _Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Emily._


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't like this."

Dumbledore chuckled from just outside the door, taking more amusement in the situation than Emily thought he rightly should.

"It is unconventional, I give you that," he smiled, eyes twinkling.

Emily sighed from where she sat in her seat. There was one chair in the small dodecagon-shaped room, a rickety ash-coloured wood that she clutched the sides of, almost afraid she would fall off. Despite being the object of observation, Emily was slightly miffed by the fact that the three Unspeakables in the room with her, waving their wands around, were otherwise ignoring her entirely. Their muttering was low, spells spoken quietly to themselves, as two chanted towards the walls and the third slowly circled her.

Emily sighed again and turned back to where Dumbledore stood next to Willem, the pair of them watching the different lights that came out of each Unspeakable's wand. Green, blue and silver light danced together around the room, the occasional sparkles floating to the floor before disappearing. The magic was pretty, she thought as she rubbed her scar, and comforted Emily slightly from where she sat isolated on the stool.

"Potter," Willem drew her attention back, having dropped the polite 'miss', "what is that scar?"

Emily's eyes shot to his, the wideness of them being noted by both the professor and his contact. Not entirely sure how to respond, Emily frowned in consternation. On the one hand, it was the strangest thing being asked that question, seeing as everyone that she'd met since she'd been eleven had known the story almost better than her. On the other hand, however, her scar was the leftover evidence of a turning point in wizarding history, a future the people around her had yet to experience. Hermione's words echoed around her head, fighting with the question she'd just been asked. How could she possibly tell them what it was when the truth of it could very well change the future? Telling them that she'd actually survived the Killing Curse of a dark lord would mean no turning back.

"I … I can't tell you that," she said hesitantly, her grip on the stool tightening.

"Potter, we are Unspeakables here and know how to keep a secret. It's part of the job," Willem returned, his gaze never changing.

Emily fidgeted but stayed firm in her resolve.

"Yeah, but this is a pretty big one," she maintained.

"We will need to view your memory of what happened to bring you here anyway, girl," Willem told her, shifting his hands behind his back. "As I said, we know how to keep a secret and we here in the Time Room know especially well how important maintaining the timeline – so to speak – is."

"But that memory is important too!" Emily argued, getting riled up. She bit her lip furiously for a moment before hardening her eyes. "Look, Mr Willem, I know it might seem strange to hear this from a sixteen-year-old girl, but both that memory and this scar are—are important! I can't just tell you about them because if that information falls into the wrong hands it could change everything," she implored.

Dumbledore watched her contemplatively, his expression calm but a clear spark of curiosity in his eyes. Willem, on the other hand, appeared slightly frustrated as he replied.

"Look, Potter, the quickest way to get this figured out is to see what happened firsthand. Also, you keep rubbing that scar like it hurts and not like a nervous twitch; please give me some credit, I know a curse mark when I see one. I need to know all the variables before I can come to a conclusion and start to work on a way to fix the mess you're making. You want to go home, Potter?" he asked, raising an almost mocking eyebrow at her. "Then you need to tell me what I need to know because I'm the only one that can help you."

Before Emily could respond there was an unspoken message passed between the Unspeakables in the room with her and each simultaneously stopped casting and walked out the door. Emily watched them leave and suddenly wished they'd come back. As soon as they'd left the chamber she could feel a humming deep in her bones, a pulse that seemed to make the room come to life.

"But first thing's first," Willem said, studying the room briefly before turning his eyes back on her. "Hold on, Potter," he advised, stepping into the doorway but not taking a step further. He grasped the doorknob and paused, watching the nervous expression flitter across Emily's face. "Don't throw up," he warned and shut the door.

Emily swore.

The room was dark without the open door.

She didn't have to wait long. Another pulse came as she sat, a live feeling that left her distinctly uncomfortable, almost like there was someone or something else in the room hiding in the corner of her eye. Emily shifted nervously on her seat, flexing her fingers where they clutched the wood, and glanced around as though expecting to see whatever it was. Another pulse. It felt like it travelled through her body, like her whole frame moved with it, a wave caught in the tide. It came again, quicker than before, and Emily closed her eyes and cringed. It almost rattled her bones. Her already sensitive stomach rocked with the feeling, lurching in response to the heavy throbbing that swarmed around her. A flash of light behind her eyes made Emily's lids snap up and her head jerk around, trying to spot where it came from. A new blast lasted no more than a millisecond but Emily was sure she'd seen it again. Quickly, another light became visible, shortly followed by another.

Emily felt the pressure on her chest, the steady beat of the room around her forcing her to concentrate on her breathing, making sure it was deep enough. A fortunate thing, perhaps, as once the dizzying light started, it didn't seem to stop. It flickered, an almost white, pale yellow around her. Focusing her eyes, squinting them and staring as hard as she could, Emily saw that the light actually shot up the walls; from her own feet, across the floor, to the ceiling and up into the centre directly above her head before disappearing, almost too quickly to make out.

As soon as she determined this, though, it seemed to be all she could notice. As Emily watched the light around her a sick feeling began in her stomach and her head started to spin. Never in her life had she suffered motion-sickness, but as the light flashed up the wall and the throbbing in the room pulsed through her, Emily imagined it couldn't feel too different from this.

"Oh no," she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut and the stool hard. Rigidly she sat, swaying with the beat of the room, trying to ignore the bright flashing behind her eyelids and focus on breathing. It felt like the room was moving around her, a steady yet forceful rocking that was growing a distinct pressure in her head and gut.

The light began moving even faster, one light following on the tail of the one before almost too quickly to know they were separate. The pulsing continued in a steady rhythm but the flickering light soon became a solid block, only occasionally quivering, like it was caught in excited anticipation. Emily bit her lip hard in an effort not to cry out. Her hands left the stool and moved to squeeze her head as she hunched over. The pulsing, throbbing, _alive_ feeling of the room was so intense that it felt like she was getting squeezed by a giant snake. Her scar burned even more intensely than the light that seared her eyelids and several tears creeped out. Emily hid her head as best she could in her lap, trying to spare herself, but before she was aware of it happening, she'd tilted off the stool and crashed to the floor. The rocking of the room had stolen her centre of gravity away before she'd even realised she was swaying. As she lay curled on the ground with her eyes squeezed shut and the room rocking around her, Emily couldn't help but let out a pitiful cry.

Another pulse jerked her body around and knocked her into the stool, cutting off her cry. The furniture fell away from the centre and the girl replaced it, once more directly underneath the central point of the small twelve-walled chamber.

The light swelled above her, the room humming with magic, and, with a tangible lurch, everything suddenly stopped.

She saw the Great Hall behind her closed eyes with lunch spread out across the tables, students laughing and sun shining.

Too much for Emily's tortured stomach, the girl pitched to the side and was sick.

Emily heard the door open and a sigh come from it.

"I told her not to get sick," muttered Willem as he finally stepped into the room.

"What … what the hell?!" Emily demanded, swaying on her hands and knees when she tried to stand. She groaned weakly as her head spun, the pressure on it almost unbelievable, though pale in comparison still to the way her scar seared. "How w- _as_ that sup-supposed to help anything?" she cried, her speech halted and groaning as her stomach threatened to empty again. Emily allowed herself to sit back on her bum and curled her knees up to her chest, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.

"I wanted to see if your maintained existence was a fluke," the man said, flicking his wand and clearing away her sick.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said from the doorway, stepping into the room. He reached Emily and knelt down, pressing a gentle hand to her back and rubbing it comfortingly.

Emily moaned quietly in pain but appreciated the gesture. Willem's words struck a wrong chord in her as they registered, though, and in a flash she was furious.

"Were you trying to make me disappear?!" she demanded, lifting her head up to glare at the man with more anger than she'd felt in months; not since she'd lost Sirius had she been this mad.

Willem seemed unaffected by her emotion, though, and stared at her passively.

"I won't lie to you, Potter; the best thing for this time, for any time, is for those with the knowledge of future events to not have any control over it. You being here is a serious threat to the way things are meant to be and, whether you appreciate it or not, just by knowing what is to come gives you more control over the future than you know. That kind of power is more than dangerous, it's destructive. Nothing good comes from meddling with time, Potter; it is not meant to be mastered and any attempt to do so will only ever end in more strife than you can imagine."

"Claudius," Dumbledore began in a dark, warning tone. Emily, however, had had enough.

"I don't want control over it!" she yelled, standing to her feet determinedly, ignoring the way she wobbled. Dumbledore kept a careful hand on her back to offer some stability as she regained her balance and let her continue. "I don't want to even try! I came here by accident and I just want to go back to my time and forget this ever happened! And you can't just make me disappear! I don't like it – I _hate_ it – but I'm needed back in 1997 because—because things are happening! I've got a job to do and no one can do it but me! This isn't some teenage drama, either," she fumed, scowling darkly at the frowning Unspeakable, "this is … this is more than you know," she growled finally, clenched fists shaking at her sides.

"Well, either way, your connection to this time is real and you will stay until we can understand how," Willem said, turning to walk out the door. "This way," he directed, bidding them follow.

Emily opened her mouth to yell again but paused when Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I would like one moment alone with Claudius if you don't mind, Emily," he said, smiling a slightly strained smile at the pale and shaky girl standing next to him. Emily nodded and watched as Dumbledore walked quickly after the man. Stumbling to the door, Emily leaned on the door frame and watched as the pair had a hushed conversation. Willem appeared frustrated as they spoke while Dumbledore himself was frowning in a very familiar, quietly furious way. Dumbledore gestured with his hands sharply and Willem sighed before both turned to watch Emily frown.

"Come on, Potter, we have things to discuss," Willem announced, his mouth tight.

Dumbledore was smiling brightly at her and Emily just _knew_ it couldn't be a good thing.

* * *

"I won't do it," Emily pronounced.

Dumbledore sighed at her stubbornness and reached up to rub his temple.

"Emily, the Unspeakables need time to understand this and, as much as I'm sure they'd enjoy it, I refuse to allow a young girl to be kept close by as a ready experiment," he told her sternly.

Emily shrugged persistently and looked away from both men. She toyed with the armrest on her chair and determinedly studied the clock that had somehow moved from the middle of the wall to the corner of Willem's office. Dumbledore hadn't even needed to finish his suggestion before she'd shot it down.

"Let the girl be, Albus. It's a bad idea anyway," Willem argued, frowning deeply at the auburn-haired professor.

"Emily," Dumbledore ignored Willem, turning fully in his seat to look at her, "as much as I wish for your sake we could have this solved today, that isn't going to happen," he reminded her gently. "There is no place here for you to stay either, and no one outside you can stay with. Hogwarts, however, offers you a bed every night and food in your belly, and most importantly you will be continuing your education while here," he persuaded.

Emily snorted but didn't look back at him. As much as she knew Hermione would have caved to that suggestion, unwilling to threaten her continued education even if a mass murderer attended the school, Emily was not as inclined. She folded her arms and frowned worriedly, her eyes losing focus as she reminded herself of every reason _not_ to go to Hogwarts while she was here.

Just the idea of being in the same building as him again, let alone the same classroom – actually _seeing_ him like nothing was amiss – made Emily feel sick all over again. And furious.

"Emily—"

"If you put me in that school, Professor, I can't be held accountable for what I'll do to one of your students," she hissed, scowling at the clock. Her fists tightened where they rested on her arms and the limbs folded in tighter to her chest. "And I don't care if that gives something away," she added, turning to glare at both men. "I _won't_ do it."

Dumbledore and Willem turned to look at each other, the pair seeming to have a silent conversation between them. At one point Dumbledore tilted his head down and frowned, causing Willem to reluctantly sigh.

"Look, Potter," he began uneasily, wary of her tight expression, "you're refusing to give me your memory or even tell me about that scar. That means this is going to take longer than either of us want. The Time Room team will need to check you regularly to see how your body, magic and mind is coping with this displacement, but until you give me something more we're moving at a snail's pace," he grumped, folding his own arms too. "Albus … thinks you would find yourself coping best in a familiar environment and, while I insistently recommend _not_ involving yourself with so many people," he said, looking pointedly at a seemingly unaffected professor, "at the very least he would be able to keep an eye on you, so to speak. Albus has a direct line of contact with me so if anything _happens_ ," he stressed, as though leaving the definition open on purpose, "you can go to him and he'll contact me."

Emily released a frustrated sound from the back of her throat and sat up straight to glare at them both.

"I don't care," she persisted, her heart beginning to beat quicker in her chest as stress sank its claws into her. "I _don't_ want to be there while _he's_ there. I can't be!" her voice pleaded at the end, green eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. He'd killed her mother and her father, he'd tried to kill her more times than she cared to count, he'd killed her friend, his favourite Death Eater had killed her godfather, and all the other terrible things that he'd done. There was no way Emily wanted to have to look at his face every single day for an unknown length of time and pretend he hadn't. "Please," she crumbled, her face falling.

"Potter…" Willem groaned quietly, showing the first sign of actual stress by running a hand through his hair. "I don't want you here all the time and this can't get out. Have some self-control, because there's nothing else we can reasonably do with you for what I'm imagining will be a significant length of time."

* * *

 _Bum-baaah! A really big thank you for all the support I've gotten for this story so far. And I'm so chuffed by the five communities who've added this to their collections, as well. Thanks! Almost a month since the last update, I realised, but uni is finished for the semester and I really hope to put more effort into writing. As an added note to those of you reading_ Silver Sweet By Night _(Hermione/Remus), I'm really hoping to have a new chapter out for that in about two weeks or so. So sorry for the wait! And please_ _review :)_


	4. Chapter 4

Headmaster Dippet gazed over his bony fingers at Emily who tried not to fidget. The man looked ancient, more ancient that she could even remember Dumbledore being in her time. Despite the wizard looking like his body might turn to dust at any given moment, however, there was a steeliness in his eyes and a sureness in his posture that persuaded Emily to sit a little straighter in her chair. Looking at him now, Emily couldn't help but wonder how a man like Dippet had been fooled by Riddle. He certainly wasn't fooled by her, that was for sure.

"Hogwarts has recorded your enrolment with the name Potter," he said, looking over and shuffling the parchment that had filled with writing the moment Dumbledore had enrolled her into the school. Dippet turned to look at her again, his head tilted curiously to the side as he continued. "But you don't want to go by that name while you're here," he clarified, brown eyes clear.

"No sir," Emily agreed, glancing at Dumbledore for reassurance. Taking the hint, Dumbledore took over.

"It is a matter of personal safety, Armando," he informed smoothly, straightening out the midnight blue robes that fell over his crossed knees. "All this business with Grindelwald aside, this is a Ministry matter, as you can see," he said, gesturing to the opened and read Ministry letter that sat atop the pile of parchment on Professor Dippet's desk.

Dippet's eyes returned to the letter emblazoned with the Ministry letterhead, his eyes skimming the words again. It was clear he was suspicious of the new arrival by his reluctance to readily accept her into the school. Dumbledore had organised the meeting with the headmaster for early that Tuesday morning. Monday would have been preferable for all parties, but the experimental magic Emily had been subjected to at the Ministry had left her thoroughly exhausted the next day, so much so that she had found it difficult to even remove herself from her bed. The day had been filled with restless dozing and aching muscles, the throbbing headache and prickling in her scar barely lessening with the Pain Relief Potion Dumbledore had kindly given her. She wasn't feeling well but she was feeling better the next morning, so Dumbledore had taken the opportunity to organise their meeting with Dippet then.

"Hmm." The headmaster tapped his finger on the letter, considering the limited information it offered. His gaze flicked back to Emily where she met it nervously but surely, hoping he wouldn't pry. The letter expressly stated that the headmaster wasn't meant to, but no one could be sure how readily he'd follow that instruction. "If not your own name, what one will you be using?" the aged old man asked, turning to settle his gaze on Dumbledore.

Emily's eyes did the same, still unsure about it all. The idea was to not bring attention to herself and she felt as though the flamboyant Dumbledore had already forgotten that fact.

"Dumbledore," Dumbledore said cheerily, seeming quite excited by the idea. Emily couldn't help but look at him long-sufferingly before turning back to face Dippet with a sigh. The headmaster's eyebrows rose at Dumbledore's pronouncement before he turned his eyes on the girl slumping awkwardly in her chair, clearly resigned to the idea.

"I see," Dippet said slowly, reaching out and making a note on one of his many pages of parchment. "And … what relation is she to be to you, Albus?" he asked lightly, looking up at the colourful man from under his bushy eyebrows.

"My first cousin, once removed," the man replied, smiling brightly and twinkling madly. "My aunt Honoria moved to the United States after my cousin Clifford was born – out of marriage, you understand," he said conspiringly, leaning forward to share the secret scandal with Dippet. "Emily here can easily claim my relation through them with no one the wiser."

"And her reason for appearing after the start of the school year?" Dippet prompted, one white eyebrow raised in reluctant amusement at the enthusiasm that Dumbledore was displaying.

"Of course," he nodded, shuffling on his seat before leaning forward again. "My poor cousin Clifford was the one home-schooling her and has recently fallen victim to an unfortunate bout of failed Memory Charm work and currently resides in the local hospital," he grimaced sympathetically before continuing. "My aunt is on one of her extended sojourns in South America and can't care for her. Clearly these are not circumstances for a young lady yet to come of age," he explained. "As her next of kin, I couldn't resist inviting her to stay with me and school here." Dippet looked satisfactorily impressed.

"Very well, Albus, Miss … Dumbledore," he said, eyeing Emily again quietly, "that seems sufficient enough. Now," he announced, shuffling through his papers again before settling on a page and turning his focus directly on the girl, "what classes are you taking? We have a high standard here at Hogwarts, Miss Dumbledore, and I expect you to exceed in all of them, so choose wisely."

Emily felt like gulping at the sudden expectations thrust on her. While she didn't expect Dippet to have her thrown out if she failed to get an Outstanding in every subject, she still felt her nerves returning.

"Um, right," she said, straightening in her chair and frowning in concentration. "Ah, I can do Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology."

"Looking for a career with the Aurors are you, Miss Dumbledore?" Dippet asked in passing curiosity, taking note of what she'd said onto his parchment, his quill scratching loudly.

"Yes sir," Emily agreed, reaching up to scratch behind her ear. While her hand was there she finally relented and rubbed her scar, holding back a wince as best she could at the throbbing pain.

Dippet made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat as he finished writing and turned back to her. "And what of your Apparition licence?" he asked.

"Ah, I'm only sixteen sir, I haven't started classes for that yet," she frowned.

"Wrong, Miss Dumbledore," Dippet announced, sitting up straight in his chair and levelling her with a stern look. "In the American system, students attain their licence in their fifth and sixth years, depending on their age. So I ask again, Miss Dumbledore, what of your Apparition licence?"

Emily floundered for a moment, lost on what answer he was looking for. In a brief moment of clarity, however, she understood.

"I failed my first test and need to take it again, sir," she hedged, sighing quietly in relief as the headmaster nodded and turned to Dumbledore.

"Make sure she knows what she'll be saying, Albus," he warned, shaking his head slightly at the amusement in the younger man's face. "There aren't many differences between our systems that you'll need to remember, Miss Dumbledore, but it would help the validity of your story if you knew the details of the differences we do have," he advised. Emily nodded gratefully, finding a nugget of respect grow for the old headmaster. While she couldn't forget that he'd been one of the teachers who had fawned over Tom Riddle, Emily still found herself strangely pleased at the man's shrewdness.

"We have time to work on it before she starts classes, don't we Emily?" Dumbledore turned to her and smiled.

"Yes sir," she said yet again. Emily was content to let Dumbledore lead the way. She trusted his judgement while she was stuck in a foreign time.

"Very well then, Miss Dumbledore," Dippet declared, turning from his papers to level Emily with a direct look. "Welcome to Hogwarts. You will start classes on Monday. I'm sure the rest of this week will be sufficient enough time for you to gather your school supplies and settle in. Saturday night I'll announce your enrolment and have you move into your new dormitory on Sunday. Until then, you have my permission to leave school grounds when you collect your things from Diagon Alley. The Floo in Albus's office will be available to you, so long as you inform him when you are leaving," he advised. Emily nodded, pushing the blossoming nervous energy to the side as she focused on Dippet. "Last but not least, of course," he said, standing from his seat and walking further back into his office. Emily frowned slightly as she watched him go, turning to Dumbledore in question. The man simply winked at her and shuffled to sit straighter in his seat, clearly awaiting something. Emily cocked a curious eyebrow and turned back to the headmaster.

"The Sorting Hat," she breathed, her tone both fond and cautious as she watched Dippet return to his seat and pass her the Hat.

"We can forgo the pomp and ceremony, I think," he declared, settling back into his chair. "Well go on then, put it on," he gestured with a wizened hand.

Emily chanced a glance at Dumbledore and saw his eyes twinkling excitedly at her. She was nervous, though. Not in fear of what House she'd be sorted into, but at what the Hat would glean when it fished through her head. She hesitated as she held it in her lap, looking at the tatty brim and worrying it with her fingers.

"It won't bite, Miss Dumbledore, I can assure you," Dippet prompted, threading his fingers over his belly and leaning back expectantly in his chair.

Emily breathed deeply and slowly lifted the Hat up and onto her head, the office falling away as the brim fell over her eyes until the world was black.

" _Interesting_ ," came the quiet voice in her head.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that what the Hat learned would remain a secret. If the Hat was the confidant of the headmaster, or vice versa, then knowledge that wasn't even the business of the Unspeakables could erupt and skew the world she knew.

" _What is seen in the heads of each student to put me on remains their business alone_ ," the Hat reassured, resulting in Emily's breath of relief. She was about to pose a comment to the Hat when all of a sudden "GRYFFINDOR!" was shouted into the quiet of the Headmaster's Office, causing her to jump slightly in surprise.

Emily removed the Hat and smiled wryly at Dumbledore, who was beaming with the brightness of a thousand suns.

"It must run in the family," Dippet commented dryly, leaning forward to take the Hat back.

* * *

Emily groaned in relief when she sat down in her antechamber chair, her guest quarters already warmed thanks to the crackling fire. Dumbledore chuckled as he joined her, summoning a pot of tea and light lunch from the kitchens to settle on the table between them.

"Well that went much smoother than I'd anticipated," he informed her cheerily, pouring them both a cup. Emily tilted her head up from where it had fallen back against her chair and peeked her eyes open to stare at the professor.

"Was it supposed to go worse than that?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Not necessarily, my dear. Armando Dippet is just a curious fellow most of the time. I might have expected a few more probing questions than we received, is all," he said, passing her cup over and reaching to sip at his own. Emily regretfully shuffled into an upright position in her chair and leaned forward to reach for one of the sandwiches on the tea tray.

"Do you think he's just biding his time?" she asked jokingly, taking a bite and leaning back again. Dumbledore hummed before he responded.

"Perhaps. I know that he won't do anything to jeopardise your place here, if that is your concern," he told her, taking a bite of his own sandwich now too. "However, don't be surprised if he attends you with more than a passing curiosity. It's not every day the old man gets a letter from the Department of Mysteries telling him to keep his nose out," Dumbledore chuckled, Emily finding it strangely amusing to hear Dumbledore refer to someone else as 'old'. "Though he'll do his best, Armando won't be able to keep his nose entirely to himself," he smiled.

Emily smiled in return, enjoying the quiet moment between them. Though her attendance at Hogwarts was something she still wasn't enthusiastic about, it felt reassuring to have something guaranteed again. She was an anomaly in this time, but at least Hogwarts was still standing strong. The castle and the curious old professor sitting in front of her were the two things most constant and enduring in her life. Emily couldn't imagine Hogwarts without Dumbledore or Dumbledore without Hogwarts. There was something about them both that always made her feel calm and safe – at home.

"When can I go to Diagon Alley to get my school things?" Emily asked as she finished her sandwich, reaching to wash it down with her tea. A thought occurred to her, suddenly, and her eyes widened fractionally as she voiced it. "I don't have any money to pay for it all!"

"Not to fret, my dear, you are a Dumbledore now," Dumbledore beamed, setting his sandwich down. "You can go as soon as you like, imagining the headmaster sends through your supplies list soon, and for your stay here you will be under my care; I will pay for anything you need."

"Sir, that's … too generous, I can't accept that," Emily refused, shifting uncomfortably.

"Nonsense, my dear girl. Besides, how else would you be expected to pay? You haven't any access to your family's money and frankly the school's allowance in such matters is borderline short change," he said, frowning slightly at the thought. "I've said to Armando time enough that the school needs to be more generous with such things, but I'm afraid I haven't gotten through to him quite yet."

"Well if anyone can, I'm sure it's you, Professor," Emily teased, delighting in the laugh that erupted from the man at her comment. "Will you be coming with me, sir?" she asked.

"To Diagon Alley?" he clarified, continuing as she nodded. "If you decide to wait until Saturday to go then I will, of course, join you. I would recommend that you go earlier than that, though," he said, nodding to himself as he thought. "You never know what you might need the extra time for."

Emily shrugged, lifting her teacup up to her lips and tipping it back until it was empty. She was silent for a moment as she thought about what she would say next.

"Sir," she began slowly, frown firmly on her face. Dumbledore looked up from the final bites of his sandwich and gave her his full attention. Emily chewed her lip in thought before taking a breath and soldiering on. "Sir, I was thinking about—that is to say, well, I have a very recognisable face," she began, looking up and feeling encouraged by the open expression on Dumbledore's face. "I was just wondering if I should do something about that. I mean, I don't want to take Polyjuice Potion, of course – that's disgusting – but I don't want to take any chances about it either."

Dumbledore was quiet as he contemplated what she'd said, his blue eyes shrewd as they flashed over her face.

"I don't imagine that your face will be a problem, Emily," he began thoughtfully, pursing his lips. "Keep in mind that between now and your time, fifty years will have passed. While some people I'm sure have excellent enough memories to recall the face of a fellow student from fifty years prior, I don't imagine it would be something they would think to do. Remember that your circumstances are entirely unique. Prior to you, my dear, your kind of time travel had never been imagined and I doubt a single student in a sea of them will stand out well after years have blurred the memory of even their common room walls."

Put like that, Emily could see his point. Still, there was one part of her at least that was still entirely distinct.

"What about my scar?" she blurted, watching the curiosity flash across Dumbledore's face. Though he hadn't said it, Emily knew he was just as curious about her circumstances and her scar as Willem had been, her refusal to explain no doubt only fanning the fire.

"It is significant in your time, I take it?" he asked carefully.

"Very," Emily confirmed. "And even if I don't change anything else, sir," she said, unconsciously leaning forward to convey how serious she was, "I need to hide this scar."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and lifted a hand to tap his chin, the other stroking his beard thoughtfully. Despite the heavy question, Emily couldn't help but find amusement at the sight of Dumbledore doing something that so closely resembled the head patting-belly rubbing action. It suited him.

"There is a shop off Diagon Alley that specialises in beauty treatments. Or so I am told," he chuckled, flushing bashfully and scratching his bearded cheek. "The witches there might be able to help."

"Great," Emily smiled. If they really could help, then when she got home Emily considered keeping her scar hidden the same way. It was all she had wanted to do since she realised the truth of it.

"Excellent," Dumbledore clapped his hands together. A frown suddenly flashed across his face and he hastily removed a gold pocket watch from within his robes. He consulted it for a moment and Emily cocked her head, wondering how he could tell the time when the watch had twelve hands of its own and planets instead of numbers. "I'm afraid I must be off now, Emily, unless I want to be late for class," he told her regretfully, putting the watch away and turning his eyes back on her.

"Oh, of course," she agreed, shifting on her seat slightly. "Um, I guess I'll see you later, Professor," she smiled awkwardly.

Dumbledore returned her smile with amusement.

"Don't forget that you need only summon one of the House Elves if you wish for something, my dear. I find a nice book always manages to make time fly for me," he suggested happily.

Emily tried not to cringe at the thought.

"I'll find something to pass the time, Professor," she smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning light thread its way through the loose strands of Emily's dark hair in a playful contrast of black and gold. She chewed her toast slowly, reading over the list of necessary supplies Dippet's owl had dropped off not ten minutes earlier. All things considered, this was the easy part. The list really hadn't changed much from when she received her sixth year supplies list the first time. A different book or two wasn't too much of a sacrifice.

Emily paused mid-chew, her eyes sparkling as she raised her gaze from the parchment.

She didn't need a guard to go to Diagon Alley.

She grit her teeth against the reason _why_ and the one responsible for the guard in the first place and just tried to enjoy the moment. Though she missed her Invisibility Cloak with a fierce longing, Emily reminded herself she wouldn't need it this time shopping. The thought, despite circumstances, had her giddy. It was a pleasant distraction, especially from her uncomfortable night's sleep. Though it had been deep and she hadn't woken once nor dreamed at all, she'd felt a deep unease that had clung to her like cobwebs for a time after she'd risen.

It was yet another thing Emily chose not to study more closely.

Fortunately the arrival of her supplies list had proven sufficient enough distraction and as she finally finished her morning routine, brushing her long hair out and pulling it back, Emily had successfully put it to the back of her mind. She'd taken her time that morning to ensure all students would be in class when she left her rooms so she could avoid them in the corridors and made her way to Dumbledore's office. Her small purse with Dumbledore's money was in one pocket and her list and wand were tucked in the other. When she reached Dumbledore's wing she opened his classroom door without thought and then froze one step in.

"Ah, Emily," the man smiled, entirely unruffled. Emily wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Dumbledore's weren't the only eyes on her. She refused to make eye contact with them but there was no missing the tell-tale red and green of students mid-lesson.

"Er, sorry, sir," she muttered, her eyes flicking over the faces of curious teenagers. "I just, um, I didn't realise you'd have class."

"Not at all, my dear girl, not at all. Come in, come in," he instructed cheerfully, waving an enthusiastic hand to encourage her forward.

Emily held in a groan and shut the door, awkwardly walking through the rows of desks until she reached her temporary guardian.

"I was just … going to use your Floo," she told him, glancing down at the planets patterned on his robes before looking back into his highly amused face.

"Of course, no problem at all. Do have fun today and spend wisely," he winked over his half-moon spectacles.

Patting her shoulder and chuckling, Dumbledore let her go. Emily quickly reached the door to his office and opened it, her face warming at her unceremonious introduction to the Hogwarts population. If the students were anything like the ones in her time, she'd be part of the gossip before she even started classes.

"Not to worry, class. That was our new student, Emily. She'll be joining you next week. I hope you'll welcome her, she'll be a sixth year with you."

The door was almost closed behind her when Emily froze.

"Now, back to human transfiguration. Mr Meadowes, pay attention today. I once knew a fellow that transfigured his own arm into a leopard-spotted seal flipper when his mind wandered during class. Of course, despite the only partial nature of his transfiguration it was a rather fetching flipper."

Emily slowly shut the door with a shaking hand that tightly gripped the knob and shook her head. That was the sixth year transfiguration class. Gryffindor and Slytherin.

 _Voldemort_.

He'd been _right there_.

* * *

It was a relief to Emily when Dumbledore came to call on her that evening. Her day in Diagon Alley, while successful regarding the attainment of her supplies, had been tainted by the accidental introduction she'd suffered that morning. Of course, her scar had been hurting unceasingly, but she should have noticed when it began to ache more as she'd neared and entered Dumbledore's classroom. Terror and rage in equal measure had simmered in her as she'd begun her shopping and had only lessened as the day wore on. She'd taken her time, enjoying the sights and smells of Diagon Alley to the best of her ability, but couldn't deny the ache she felt when she stumbled across things familiar. Flourish and Blotts was the same, as was Ollivanders. The owls she'd seen for sale had made her pause and grow sad. Though none had been as stunning as Hedwig, the thought of her and who she'd write to reminded Emily of how alone she was.

"Good evening, sir."

Well, almost.

"Good evening indeed," Dumbledore chuckled as he entered her rooms, each taking a seat in front of her fire. "Quite the stir you've caused, and I don't mean just with the Unspeakables."

Clenching her jaw at the reminder of earlier that day, Emily took an obvious breath to calm herself, one that didn't go unnoticed by the perceptive professor sitting across from her.

"Not the impression you'd intended to make?" he asked leadingly, observing the way her clenched fists slowly relaxed.

Emily strained a smile at him and responded. "Not exactly," she murmured, glancing away to stare at the fire.

The pair were quiet for a moment. Emily allowed the brightness in the fireplace to relax her as she thought of home while Dumbledore watched her curiously, a minutely unsure expression on his face.

"Emily," he interrupted her reverie softly so as not to startle her. When she turned resigned green eyes to look at him he continued. "It is not my place to pry, but if there is something bothering you, you can speak to me about it and I can hopefully provide some useful advice," he offered. "And if not, an open ear can do just as many wonders."

The girl sighed and gave him a sad smile. "I know, Professor, but this is one of those things I can't. If I did … well, Hermione would have my hide," she chuckled to herself. Indeed, if Hermione ever found out she'd broken yet another law of time by telling Dumbledore what was to come, Emily quite thought she'd rather face the Horntail again than her friend's ire.

"A friend of yours?" he asked, watching her wry expression with amusement of his own.

"Best friend," Emily confirmed, a whimsical smile growing on her face. "Me, Hermione and Ron; we've been best friends since first year." She sighed sadly then and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I just hope they're okay. I mean, they're probably worried sick."

"On the contrary, Emily," Dumbledore interrupted her, shifting to face her more directly, "from what I understand it, Unspeakable Willem intends to pinpoint your exact moment of departure from the future and send you there," he reassured.

"He can do that?"

"Well he will certainly try," he smiled, shifting again and burrowing further into his armchair, sighing happily as he faced the fire.

Emily sat back against her own armchair and considered what Dumbledore had said.

"So no matter how long I'm here, everything will still be the same as when I left?" Emily asked to be sure. Her eyes widened suddenly and she groaned. "I could be twenty when I go back!" she lamented.

Dumbledore chuckled and scratched his cheek in a gesture that Emily found surprisingly nervous. Emily didn't think she'd ever seen the man nervous before; not when the Board of Governors had him removed in second year, not when the yet to be proven innocent Sirius had stormed the castle in third, not when Voldemort had come back after the Triwizard Tournament in fourth, and not when he'd duelled that same monster in the Ministry not a year ago at the end of her fifth year. It was wonderfully human, and terrifyingly unsettling.

"For your sake, my dear, I hope it doesn't take that long. However," he hesitated and Emily felt it like the breath was knocked out of her – Dumbledore never hesitated, "until the Unspeakables understand how you appeared here, there really is no telling at all how long you'll have this generation for company."

Emily slowly slumped back into her chair, wide eyes unseeing.

"I didn't…" she cleared her suddenly hoarse throat and winced at the crack in her voice. "I mean, you don't really think it would be _that_ long. Right?"

He hesitated again and Emily flinched.

"I cannot say," Dumbledore told her as tactfully as he could. "Which is why being a Dumbledore is best for you," he attempted to cheer her gently, reaching over and patting her arm.

"Why? Why are you so sure about me being a Dumbledore while I'm here?"

"Well, it will certainly explain away our familiarity and, forgive me for assuming so as I'm sure you're quite capable yourself, will grant you a certain respect and untouchability that an entirely unattached transfer student would be unable to attain. Also Hogwarts has only very, very rarely taken in transfer students before and only then in extreme circumstances. I hope you won't mind, but by playing favouritism we can explain away that little detail quite easily. And also," he hesitated again and looked at her with carefully hidden but still apparent pity in his eyes, "you will be supported while you're here. No one else outside the team working on your way home is to know about your previous circumstances. Welcoming you into my family is the best arrangement I can give you."

He had a point. No matter what, she was still isolated while she was here. Complete honesty was something Emily realised she might just have taken for granted back home. Her life had become a lie. A necessary one, but a lie nonetheless. She was suddenly very grateful Dumbledore had provided her with his name. She didn't want to imagine what it would have been like to do this entirely on her own.

Dumbledore, sensing her melancholy, moved to arrange their dinner. It was a quiet affair.

* * *

The remainder of her week before Saturday dinner was slow. Emily appreciated the company Dumbledore gave her whenever he had time to spare, but he was still a teacher that had classes to prepare for and essays to mark. That left Emily to her own devices more often than not, and she'd never more appreciated freedom than those days before her official welcome to the school. Even when in the Hospital Wing for extended periods of time Emily had freedom, and she made a vow to never resent Madam Pomfrey again. She'd been confined to her rooms and had even resorted to reading through her textbooks as a last resort to stave off her boredom. Hermione would be so proud.

Emily had spent the most time with her Potions textbook those few days, though. She remembered the way she'd read the Prince's book deep into the night, fascinated and mesmerised by the notes and recipe adjustments squeezed into the columns. She'd tried her hand at filling in her own book with what she could remember, but it was a far cry from the genius in the Prince's pages. Emily lamented the fact that she'd have to go through Potions without the Prince's help. He truly had made that class so much easier.

In addition to the information in her textbooks, however, as Dippet had recommended Emily and Dumbledore confirmed the finer details of her arrival, their relation, and her fake history. Fortunately enough, it wasn't overly complicated. As far as everyone would be concerned, she'd led a quiet, sheltered life up to her pretend-father's magical accident.

Fortunately for her, the several days until Saturday night did pass, but as dinner approached Emily felt less and less desperate for a break to the monotony and more and more apprehensive at her imminent dive into Hogwarts classes, 1943. By all accounts she was ready; she had her robes, she had her books, she had her extra potions and herbology equipment, and she even had her class schedule. Mentally, however, Emily was stretched thin.

Taking one last glance in her mirror, Emily paused at the strange sight of her blemish-free forehead. While not the greatest difference, not seeing that scar made all the difference in the world. She could still feel it, of course, the aching, burning, prickling feeling that relentlessly reminded her of the one responsible for it, but for just a moment Emily could pretend she was normal. It was liberating and surreal both, and gave Emily a sorely needed burst of confidence. Everything everyone ever saw in her was that scar; without it, she was just another face in the crowd.

That crowd shuffled happily into the Great Hall for dinner that night. Emily blended in between the other bodies, gravitating naturally towards her usual spot, or what would become her usual spot. Sitting down, she glanced around her table, taking note of the faces which looked similar to her in age and those that belonged to the younger years. It was achingly familiar, the dinner ritual, watching the students stream in and take their places. Hogwarts really was its own world.

"'Ello," greeted one of the students sitting a few places down from her. He looked around her age with shiny gold hair and a curious tilt to his mouth. "You're the new student, right? Dumbledore said your name's Emily?"

Emily smiled awkwardly at him and the two sitting with him.

"That's me," she confirmed, nodding to emphasise her point. The boy grinned then and turned properly to face her, sticking out a hand for a shake.

"Brilliant! I'm Pat Meadowes and this here is my best mate Billy," he informed happily, slinging his other arm around the shoulder of the tall boy next to him. "We were in class when you bounced in a few days ago. That was a bit'a fun," he laughed, Billy rolling his eyes and slipping out from under the arm of his friend.

"Nice to meet you both," Emily smiled, studying the faces of the sixth years she'd be joining in class.

"Ignore them," teased the girl sitting across from the boys before turning to face Emily. "I'm Kath Meadowes, this wanker's twin," she said, clearly kicking her brother underneath the table if his sudden exclamation of pain was anything to go by. She had the same golden hair and teasing grin. "The other girls'll be along shortly so we won't have to suffer them long, I promise," she reassured. "So you're a sixth year with us, yeah?" she asked, turning properly to study Emily. "I've never heard of a transfer before. Where you from?"

"America," Emily informed, trying not to twitch at the way the three sixth year Gryffindors watched her.

"You don't sound like no American," Kath stated bluntly, cocking her head to the side.

"That's because my family's British and I didn't really get out much," Emily justified, fingers crossed they'd believe her.

"Dull!" Patrick laughed, leaning towards her. "You should've gotten out more. But no matter, you're at Hogwarts now, doll! We'll show you how to have fun," he grinned.

"I hope that wasn't you attempting to get into her knickers, you chav," announced one of the two girls that sat down with them.

"You hurt me deep, Vicky!" Patrick whined, collapsing his head onto Billy's shoulder. The quiet boy half-grinned at his friend's reaction.

"Bugger off," Vicky replied, ignoring Pat's increased whining. "I'm Victory Jones, nice to meet you," she said self-assuredly, sticking her hand over the table to shake Emily's. "This here is Constance Figg," she told her, gesturing to the girl next to her who just waved shyly at Emily.

"Where's Tilda?" Kath asked, shaking her head distractedly at her brother as he pouted.

"Library. Left Ravencroft's essay till the last minute, of course," Victory said, reaching forward to fill her plate.

"Matilda's the last girl in our dormitory," Kath explained, noticing Emily's slightly overwhelmed look. "Don't worry, you'll get used to us in no time," she reassured.

Victory snorted suddenly and grinned. "Just stay away from the boys and you'll have no problems," she told her, pointing a chicken leg at a steadily more amused Emily. "They're a bunch of tossers that'd sooner have you skive class with them than get anything done."

"Oi!" Patrick cried, reaching over and quickly snatching the chicken leg out of Victory's grasp. "You liar, you asked us to skive off with you!"

Before further argument could take place, Dippet's call for attention quieted the hall full of hungry, rambunctious students.

"As I'm sure you've all heard by now," Dippet began, voice steady and carrying towards each corner of the hall, "we have a new student joining us here at Hogwarts. Miss Emily Dumbledore will be joining the sixth years and will be completing her education here at Hogwarts as part of Gryffindor house. I hope you all make her feel welcome." And with that succinct declaration, the entire hall burst out into furious whispers and craning necks, all trying to get a glimpse of the new student. If it weren't all so familiar, Emily might have felt more embarrassed than she already was at the attention.

"Blimey! You didn't say you was Dumbledore's, er, what, his kid or something?" Patrick hesitated halfway, the eyes of each of her new acquaintances on her.

"He's my cousin, actually. My dad's cousin," Emily said, trying to ignore the new way they all looked at her.

"Alright then," Victory suddenly announced loudly, nodded, and turned back to her food. The others were quiet for a moment before Patrick turned back towards her.

"You think you can put in a good word for me with Dumbledore?" he asked eagerly. "I swear he marks me down on purpose."

This was followed by an immediate reaction of tired groaning from the others about how Patrick was just that hopeless at Transfiguration. It was such a comically familiar sight that Emily couldn't help but smile and laugh along with them. Nothing really changed after all, it seemed.

But still, throughout dinner she was torn between scanning the Slytherin table for that familiar face and turning away and pretending he didn't exist. There was an oddly stretched feeling in her chest as she toed each line, unsure and unwilling to commit to either course of action. On the one hand, seeing him sitting at the Slytherin table would settle her need to confirm reality as she now knew it, even if it would provoke the fury she could feel bubbling just below the surface. On the other hand, however, for those very reasons she chose to turn away and keep her gaze locked firmly on the Gryffindor table; if she couldn't see him, if she couldn't confirm his presence, she could pretend for just a little bit longer that he didn't exist here.

Try as she might to feign ignorance completely, however, all through the dinner feast she felt a disturbing awareness of the Slytherin table. It only strengthened her resolve not to look.

* * *

 _This update got pushed back because I was sick all week, so I'm a bit sorry for that (sorrier for myself, but you understand) and then on top of that my access to FFN was blocked the very day after I sent out my review replies (I did panic, yes I did). So to make up for it this is about 400 words longer than usual. And fun things on the fem!Harry front: I've started a new fem!Harry story involving time-travel, parallel universes, female and male Harry sharing space, saving boy!Harry's world and everyone in it, and a love with Sirius in the end for adult female Harry. So yeah, if you're interested, it's there._

 _ **Quick note!** I changed the date that Emily turned up in the past to October 26, 1943 (for those of you who didn't catch that). Just re-reading over certain (_ ahem _) things involved in that time for my research regarding each plot-point relevant to the timeline, I've decided the end of October 1943 is much more likely when the original memory Dumbledore showed Emily took place. (And yeah, that night is the night she appeared, which is my reason for changing it). Thanks for your time, hope you enjoyed the update, Tom will be coming along_ very _shortly (but this story isn't going to be rushed), and please review!_


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